


A Mind Untempered

by sabby1



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Transference, Gen, Mind Meld, Minor Character Death - Spock Prime, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Please see Tags for warning!) </p>
<p>This story is about Jim and Spock, pon farr, neuro paralyzer, mind melds, and emotional transference, t'hai'la, chauvinism, and a bad-ass woman, and about finding out that sometimes just because you feel something is wrong, doesn't mean it actually is, so you'll just have to take responsibility for yourself. Oh, and three dimensional chess, motorcycle theft, and drunk Kirk also make an appearance. I think I got all the cliches. Tell me which ones I missed :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mind Untempered

Vulcans are different - even half human ones - but I didn’t realize how different until I was forced to cohabit with one of them for a couple of months in a living unit measuring about 215 square feet inside an overcrowded space station while our ship is getting some intensive TLC in the dry dock. 

It’s mostly mundane things, things that you wouldn’t even think about under normal circumstances. Take for example the average room temperature. 70 degrees Fahrenheit is pretty comfortable for us human beings. That is not the case for Vulcans who are used to an average temperature of at least 110. 

Unfortunately, I was prone to snooze during the boring subjects in my academy years, like Xenobiology, so I had no idea. And I didn't figure it out until I noticed that the stoic mouth of my first officer was turning permanently grayish because he’s freezing his tight, regulation loving ass off around the stick that is lodged so far up said ass that it won’t allow him to just say something. 

Anyway, by the time I agreed to set the room temperature to 85 - just short of sweat-shop heat for me and more than a little on the chilly side for him - I'd already figured out at least half a dozen other things that I never would have dreamed I’d ever have to deal with. 

Long before I noticed the temperature thing I noticed personal preferences. If he was my friend I’d call them quirks. But he’s apparently not – his choice, not mine - so they’re not quirks, they’re bad habits, and they’re irritating as hell. 

For example, when you grow up on a farm in Iowa, chances are pretty good that you’re going to love meat. Barbecue was one of the first words I learned along with corn, and steak, and shot-gun. It doesn’t matter that people use phasers now, or that corn is replicated instead of grown on vast fields and that I’ve never actually seen a cattle farm outside of really old family albums. It’s just part of growing up in the country. The point is: I love meat. 

Vulcans don’t. They are strict vegetarians. Have you ever tried to enjoy a prime rib, or a t-bone, or even just a cheap flank steak while someone sits across from you staring in disapproval at every bite you take? It’s no fun. In fact, it gets old very fast. It sucks even more when glaring back at him or shooting unveiled looks of disgust at his plate of gespar over the breakfast table garners zero results. 

On the bright side, I can provoke a noticeable mouth twitch out of him when I dig into a plate of baby back ribs with gusto and make sure to lick every single one of my ten fingers clean after I'm done. Hey, you gotta take your victories where you can. 

But the food issue is a minor one, really. It’s nothing compared to the bigger issues. Like his hobbies. Now, you wouldn’t think that someone’s hobbies could really cause big issues. You wouldn’t, until you live with someone who insists on practicing his Vulcan lute for two full hours every day. And of course the practice time is always the same, never mind that it’s in the middle of prime time when normal people want to watch sports on the interface. It’s not that the music is bad or that he messes up - heaven forbid - it’s that I can only take so much classical music before my temples start pounding out the rhythm in a dull throb. Soothing my ass. 

Of course, payback is a bitch so I just have to make sure to listen to some old-fashioned 20th century hard rock and turn up the volume to max while he’s doing his daily meditation routine. 

That’s another annoying habit in and off itself. I'm used to being active. Okay, to be honest, I'm living on the borderline to hyperactive disorder, so it’s absolutely unfathomable to me that anyone would voluntarily spend a whole hour sitting in one spot without moving a single muscle. It’s not just unfathomable; it aggravates my problem. 

Like a chemical equation, the longer he stays still the more I feel the need to bounce all over the place to compensate for that absolute lack of movement. Let me tell you, there’s not much bouncing to be done in a room that’s just big enough to fit two grown men and the bare necessities of living. 

The final nail in the coffin is of course the complete lack of privacy. Have you ever tried to jerk off under the covers just six feet away from a guy who can literally hear a pin drop? Don’t do it. The quick and shallow release is not worth the humiliation. 

There is nothing quite as traumatizing as being asked to ‘relocate to the bathroom in the event of future need for recreational masturbation’ in a polite tone devoid of any emotional inflection. By comparison, in retrospect, it's far less traumatizing to be caught by your own mother. At least she was just as embarrassed as I was. 

Anyway. This is what I have been dealing with for the past four weeks on this space station. And, lucky me, I am looking forward to at least four more weeks before the Enterprise has been fully restored from the battle with the Romulan Bird-of-Prey that shouldn’t have been anywhere near our set course towards Coridian in the first place. 

“End private log.” 

Jim Kirk sprawled back on his mattress, limbs akimbo, and huffed out a long breath. That damn Vulcan was driving him up the proverbial walls. “You’d think as a decorated hero and captain they’d give me a private suite.” 

Of course, the space station was not exactly equipped to house a surplus of 500 people who showed up on their doorstep unannounced and with a severely damaged Constitution-class cruiser in need of some serious TLC after an altercation with a bigger, badder Romulan military vessel. So, for lack of sufficient cabin space the crew was forced to bunk up in groups roughly sorted by rank and division. 

Now, if it had been up to Jim, he would have bunked with anyone else. And he was pretty sure his first officer felt the same way about the subject. After all, Jim liked the ladies, and Spock still had his thing going with the communications officer Lieutenant Nyota - The Wildcat - Uhura. 

However, Starfleet regulation frowned upon couple cohabitation outside of wedlock. And this base was taking it even further and kept the guys and gals on different levels of the station, bless their naïve hearts. It felt a little too much like Summer Camp for Jim Kirk’s tastes. Then again, he’d always had the most fun getting away with sneaking into the girls’ cabins at night.

In any case, Jim had ended up getting the short end of the stick. Chekov and Sulu had bunked up with Scotty and his engineers, Bones had point blank refused to share a room with ‘that sad excuse for an elf’, and the remaining crew - with the exception of the aforementioned wildcat - was so intimidated by commander Spock that they would have peed their pants if they had to share quarters with him. 

So, Captain Jim Kirk had been stuck with a seriously annoying Vulcan for a room mate. On the upside, he didn’t have to put up with additional company in the small living space; that didn’t make it feel any less cramped though.

Jim got up from his bed and decided to get out of the cabin before the bane of his existence returned. He was hungry and in need of some human company, preferably female, bonus points if they were drunk. He ambled down the corridor towards the turbo lift and, once inside, ordered the computer to take him to the deck where the canteen was located. 

As his eyes roamed over the large area he immediately searched for familiar faces at the crowded tables and bar counter. Bones was surrounded by a few of his nurses, so Jim nodded to him in passing and moved on. 

He’d been threatened with bodily harm and another injection of the mud flea shot if he hit on any of them. Jim didn’t care about the bodily harm part, but he did not want to ever be rendered half blind, throbbing with pain, and sweating like a pig again, not to mention the monstrously swollen hands and numb tongue. So, the nurses were off limits. 

His face lit up with a grin when he spotted Nyota Uhura sitting at the bar by herself with her pretty nose in a PADD. Her worse half was nowhere to be seen. 

“Can I offer you a Screaming Orgasm?” He settled down on the stool next to her with a flourish.

“That was by far your worst pick up line yet.” She still hadn’t kicked the habit of inserting an audible pause before uttering his rank. “Captain.”

For his part, Jim was just coming on to her out of habit. It was fun to see how long he could push her buttons before she forgot about protocol and came out to play. 

“I would have offered Sex on the Beach but the innuendo really doesn’t work on a space station light years away from the nearest planet.” 

She pursed her lips and seemed to consider her answer for a second before she deigned to bestow him with an arch look. 

“The way I see it, the innuendo really doesn’t work, period. Can I ask you a frank question?” She continued without waiting for permission. “Have your cheesy pick up lines ever worked on women who don't originate from an archaic alien species with the average intelligence level of a tribble?” 

“Ouch.” Jim pretended to be physically wounded by her comeback. 

He hadn’t expected her to bring out her claws this early into the game. It was almost no fun this way. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist? Did somebody wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” He grinned broadly. “You know, you’re always welcome to share mine if that’s the problem.” 

Uhura rolled her eyes and took a big gulp from her toxic looking drink. “Never gonna happen.”

Jim pouted. “Are you sure? Because I know, you and I could really wreck a room or two together.” 

She put her glass down and zeroed in on him with one of her angry glares. “What is it going to take to make you stop?” 

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. But I could tell you what it takes to get me started.” He waggled his brows. 

And that rather tame line finally pushed the button that drove Uhura over the edge. “That’s it. Get it through your thick, hick skull, Jim Kirk. I am never, ever, under any circumstances, going to sleep with you! Aliens couldn’t make me do it. The apocalypse couldn’t make me do it. Even if my own life was at stake, I would never, ever, ever share my bed with you!” 

She got up from her chair, ready to storm off, then pivoted on her heel and stuck her finger in his face. “And just for your information, you’d be sorely inadequate anyway. Because the man I’m with right now is a better lover than you smarmy-talking, hip-swaggering, brow-waggling numb-nut could ever hope to be!” 

With that she stuck up her nose at him and swiveled around to leave. 

“Inadequate?!” Now that was one insult he would not take sitting down.

By now they had garnered the attention of the entire cafeteria, but Jim didn’t give a damn, because he had a bone to pick. So he went after her. 

Uhura swung back around and stemmed her hands on her hips. “Yes, extremely so.” 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jim caught Bones chuckling and the nurses leaning forward in interest.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I am more than adequate in bed. In fact I am so good at it that entire diplomatic missions have turned out in our favor because of it. If it weren’t for me, we’d still be working on those damn treaties with the High Priestess of Yonada.”

“Son of a bitch!” 

That came from Bones, and Jim realized he had maybe said a little too much.

“Bones, you have no idea what I spared you. Seriously, she’s more than a few cards shy of a full deck.” She also was a demon between the sheets, but that was neither here nor there. 

Uhura looked back and forth between him and Bones then threw her hands up. “Men.” She shook her head. “This conversation is over. And I suggest you refrain from hitting on me in the future or I will take you to Court Martial for sexual harassment.” 

Then she did what all women seemed to master instinctively and executed a flawless turn and swish of hair maneuver before she stormed out of the cafeteria.

All eyes were on Jim and he could tell that he’d made a complete ass of himself in front of quite a few members of his crew and an uncounted number of space station residents. 

“Now that we’ve covered the abject humiliation part of the show, enjoy your drinks and have a wonderful evening!” He saluted the room in general and stalked out with a smirk on his lips and his head held high.

Jim hoped that none of that ever got back to Starfleet but, with his luck, the gossip would have reached home base before he even made it back to his quarters. 

~~

“It has been brought to my attention that there was an altercation involving you and Lieutenant Uhura this afternoon in the cafeteria.”

At the very least the story had reached his room mate's pointy ears before Jim set foot back in his cabin later that night. 

“You actually stooped to gossiping, Spock? Who would believe it?” 

Jim tried to play it cool and moved towards his bunk. He took off his shirt as an excuse to turn his back to Spock. 

“I did not, as you suggest, participate in the perpetuation of rumors.” Spock was clearly not willing to take a hint. “I was told by Lieutenant Uhura what occurred, and her report was confirmed by several independent sources.” 

As casual as he could be, Jim tossed his shirt into the hamper and turned around with his arms crossed in defiance. 

“So?”

“With all due respect, Captain, I must ask you to refrain from such juvenile behavior, in the interest of upholding Starfleet’s irreproachable reputation, especially as you happen to be one of its more illustrious members.” 

After living with the Vulcan for so long, Jim could easily translate the convoluted message into simpler terms. ‘Stop being an ass and making Starfleet look like a bunch of morons for supporting a loser like you.’ 

But just because he understood the message that didn’t mean he had to agree with it. 

“Hey, she started it.” 

That garnered him a challenging arch of Spock’s eyebrow. “Are you saying you did not goad Lieutenant Uhura into an emotional outburst purposely and fully aware of her probable reaction?”

Jim squirmed under the penetrating stare. It was impossible to lie to someone who could somehow always tell when you were lying. 

“No. I’m saying she was the one who started throwing insults. I was just messing with her. It’s not my fault she can’t take a joke.” 

“I fail to see the logic in consciously provoking a member of your crew for amusement.”

“You fail to see a lot of stuff, Spock. And you don’t really have an excuse. Your mom was as human as mine, so you should know better.” 

Uh-oh. Jim had just unintentionally broken the one simple rule to keep Spock from losing his shit: Never bring up the man’s mom. Time to seriously back paddle. He wasn’t in the mood to get knocked around and strangled to death right now.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

“Then enlighten me. In what way did you mean to implicate my mother?” 

Spock's posture was as rigid as an iron gate. The tension in his shoulders and his clenched fists were a dead give away that he was seconds away from lunging at Jim.

“I just-” Jim licked his lips. His smarts were failing him. “It was stupid. I shouldn't have said that.” 

And unless he wanted to keep repeating himself, it was time to get the hell out of this situation. So, Jim did the only thing he could think of, one of the few things he was really good at. He popped the buttons on his fly and started to drop trou'. 

“I gotta take a shower.” 

Exposing the bulge in his pristine white underpants did the trick. Spock immediately did a double take and backed up a step. 

Jim high-tailed it to the bathroom and let the door close between them. He breathed a sigh of relief at the reassuring chirp of the locking mechanism. 

~~

The next couple of days things remained tense. Spock didn't talk to him, and Jim didn't make any attempts to talk to Spock because he still hadn't figured out how to properly apologize for the stupid comment about Spock's mom. 

So far, he'd started making amends by cranking the temperature in their shared cabin up to 90 and spending most of his time elsewhere on the station to avoid sweating his balls off. 

For as little time as they now spent in each other's company, Jim still couldn't help but notice when Spock's behavior started to change.

It was little things at first, like when Jim came back early from an evening tryst with one of the babes in engineering and expected to find Spock still in the middle of his lute practice. Instead, the Vulcan was sitting cross-legged on his bunk, humming under his breath in meditation.

Jim shrugged it off and went to take a shower before he headed back out to the entertainment deck. 

That same night, when Jim got back just five minutes shy of the station wide 1 am curfew, he sneaked in on his tip toes, trying to avoid waking up his room mate, knowing Spock's habit of going to bed at 11 pm sharp. He almost stumbled over his own feet when the cabin lights came on to show Spock at the table, playing a round of three dimensional chess against himself. 

Jim could have let those things slide but, over the course of the week, more stuff kept happening that was so out of character for Spock even someone who wasn't living with the guy would have noticed. Like when his first officer stopped eating in favor of pushing the food around on his plate. Or when Spock developed the habit to drum his fingers on any available horizontal surface each time they weren't holding a PADD, or an instrument, or something else. 

Spock fidgeting was an unsettling sight to behold. It was like watching old science fiction movies where they'd gotten the general gist right but something was ridiculously wrong with the vital details. 

When Spock forgot to set the alarm - Spock. Never. Forgot. Anything. - it was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

Jim knew he had to say something. So he decided to bite the bullet and find his suddenly illusive room mate and have it out. If something was bothering Spock to the point that he became completely un-Spock-like, then it was better to get it out in the open and knock that shit right off. 

~~

When Jim found his first officer in the cafeteria, his bravado faltered for a moment. He had no idea how to start this conversation after a week of not talking to each other. 

Jim refused to acknowledge he was a chicken but found himself a place at the opposite end of the bar, a good twenty feet away from Spock and Uhura, to order whiskey on the rocks. 

His first and the communications officer were wrapped up in an intense conversation. Jim had never seen Spock get so hands on, or Uhura look so much like a cornered animal. He wished he was closer to them, so he could hear what the two were discussing. Curiosity only killed cats, so he sneakily made his way closer to the pair. 

He was close enough to see Uhura’s eyes go wide as saucers, her face distorted with panic, as she tried to get away from Spock. Then Jim heard her yell. 

“Kal-if-fee.” She rushed out the word in a shaking voice.

Jim had no idea what that meant but, whatever it was, it had an incredible impact on Spock.

The man looked as if she’d slapped him across the face and, for one moment, Jim could plainly see devastation all over the usually stoic features. 

“Choose your champion.” Spock's tone carried the chill of Delta Vega. 

Uhura’s eyes bounced frantically around the room until they landed on Jim. 

“Kirk.” She breathed his name like she didn’t want to utter it but she had no choice in the matter. 

Jim’s eyes flicked back and forth between the couple. He got the feeling he’d missed an important bit of information somewhere. 

Spock looked stricken, but he dropped his hands from Uhura and brought them together in front of him. “As it was at the time of the beginning, so it is now.” 

Jim shot a quick look around the room, looking for allies in case things got out of hand. 

Bones sat at a nearby table, watching the situation with a frown. His eyes met Jim's, and he lifted his shoulders in a nonplussed shrug. 

Spock turned on his heel and pulled himself to his full height in front of Jim. His eyes looked glassy and feverish.

“Do you accept her choice?” 

“I’d like to know what the hell is going on first.” 

Jim was confused and he didn’t like it one bit. If this wasn’t Spock in front of him, he’d swear the other man was looking for a good old fashioned bar brawl. But this was Spock, so none of it made any sense. Unfortunately, the Vulcan wasn’t forthcoming with answers. Jim looked around Spock's hulking form to glare at his communications officer.

“Uhura, I want an explanation, now.” 

“It’s a ritual. Pon Farr. I’m sorry, Captain. I couldn’t help it. It was either a fight or marry him and I can’t…” She trailed off, paler and more frightened than he'd ever seen her.

The pieces rapidly clicked into place. 

“So, I have to fight with him so you can stay single?” 

Jim shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. Alien customs really made no sense. He pointed a warning finger at the girl who had loudly declared he was 'inadequate' just a week ago.

“You owe me for this.” 

“But-”

Jim waved her off and quickly turned to Spock. “Fine, I accept.” 

Never let it be said that Jim Kirk shied away from saving a damsel in distress. Even if she was no real damsel and the distress was entirely self-inflicted.

“Captain!” Uhura sounded really panicked. 

Jim again craned his neck around Spock to look at her. “What now?” He waved his arm in an exasperated gesture. “Afraid I’m going to kick your lover’s ass?” 

Her eyes were big and wet when she said in a haunted tone, “It’s a fight to the death, Captain.” 

Oh, shit. 

Pandemonium broke out around the cafeteria, and people scattered like cockroaches to get away from the scene. Bones jumped up from his seat and gaped at Uhura. 

“Are you completely insane, woman? Spock’s gonna kill him!”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bones.” 

“You can’t do this, Jim. You know you can’t.” 

Spock’s commanding voice drew everyone’s attention. “You have accepted the challenge. Since we lack the ritualistic weapons, it shall be hand to hand combat.”

“Wait!” 

Bones maneuvered himself in between them, eyes frantically moving back and forth between Jim and Spock. 

“Before you commence anything, I insist as the chief medical officer that I verify Jim as fully physically capable of entering the challenge.”

Spock raised a brow in question. Jim had no idea what the hell Bones was going on about either. 

“What-”

“Shut up, Jim.” 

Bones dragged him away by his arm to another corner of the room. 

“Damnit, Jim, do you ever think before you open your big mouth? Don’t answer that. We both know you don’t.” 

Bones made a big show of whipping out his tricorder and scanning over Jim as he flipped open his communicator with his other hand and spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Nurse Chapel, bring a hypospray with 20 cc neuro paralyzer to the cafeteria. Now.” 

His friend’s face was pinched with concern and aggravation, and Jim realized he’d gotten in over his head. 

“Neuro paralyzer?” 

Bones growled under his breath, ignoring his question. “You’re insufferable. Getting me into these situations where I have to either chuck my professional ethics out the window or watch you get killed if I don't. I swear, one of these days I’ll snap and put you in the morgue myself, just so you’ll stop-”

His rant was abruptly cut off as nurse Chapel rushed into the cafeteria, hypospray in hand. 

“Thanks.” Bones grabbed the spray from her and injected it into Jim's arm before he could object. “You’ve got three minutes, make it look good and try not to let that pointy-eared bastard break your neck.” 

Jim wasn’t sure what exactly a neuro paralyzer was but it didn’t sound too good. 

“What did you just-” 

“Three minutes, Jim.”

Still confused, Jim went back to the Vulcan waiting for him. Spock was clearly doing some meditative thing and failing at it, because the hands folded in front of his face were visibly shaking.

“Okay, Spock, I’m ready.” 

Jim barely got the last word out before a flying fist struck him square in the face. It sent him reeling backwards over a table, and he quickly rolled out of the way before another fist could smash him in the sternum. He blocked a kick to the groin, no time for a sarcastic quip as Spock lunged at him, going for his neck. Jim threw his arm up and twisted out of the way then delivered a kick to Spock’s back that sent the taller man careening into another table.

There was no technique, no way to predict the strikes. Jim’s blood was pumping hard, muscles reacting on instinct as he dodged and blocked, completely on the defensive. This was worse than the provoked fight on the bridge. Spock wasn’t just losing it. He was going after Jim with the intent to kill. 

Whatever Bones had given Jim obviously had no effect. Jim dodged another heavy blow, twisted under Spock’s swing, and delivered a hard jab to his back. Jim grinned, threw a glance over his shoulder, and winked at Uhura. 

A sharp elbow punched his sternum and knocked the wind out of him. He collided with the floor, skull reverberating from the impact. Long, crushing fingers closed around his neck, and the weight of a mountain pressed down on Jim before the world mercifully went black. 

~~

Jim woke up to the sound of rhythmic, high pitched beeping. The mattress under him was harder than he liked, and when he cracked his lids open, blinding light assaulted his eyes; he squeezed them shut with a groan and tried to move as little as possible. Every single bone in his body was screaming abuse at him. Jim's throat made a dry clicking noise when he swallowed. 

The swishing sound of the door opening and closing alerted him to the fact that someone had entered the room.

“Finally back from the dead?” Bones drawled with thinly veiled anger.

“My head.” Jim wasn’t quite up to full sentences yet. 

“You’re experiencing an acute headache due to blunt force trauma and a concussion, as well as muscle soreness, which is a side effect of the neuro paralyzer.” There was more noise of medical equipment accompanying Bones’ acerbic summary. 

“What happened?” 

Jim only remembered bits and pieces. Everything that had happened after he hit the ground was a huge blank.

“You cracked your fool head open while getting your ass kicked by a crazy Vulcan. That’s what happened.” 

“Shit. How’s Spock?” 

Jim had no idea why that was the first question that came out of his mouth, but he rolled with it. His head hurt too much to think deeply on just about anything.

“How’s Spock?!” The noise of a tricorder sounded next to Jim’s ear. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.” 

After a small pause Jim got his answer anyway. 

“He’s doing fine. Looks like strangling you to death did the trick. I might have to try that some time, see if it makes me feel better. He snapped out of it the moment he thought you were dead.”

Jim nodded and tried to sit up. All his muscles screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. 

“Take it easy, Jim. You’re going to be feeling the after effects of your stupidity for a while.” 

“It’s not stupidity to save one of my crew members.” 

“It is when you don’t know what the hell you’re running into or what your antics are gonna cost you.” 

Jim grumbled and rubbed his head. “Did you give Uhura and Spock the same lecture? Cause they’re the ones who started it.” 

Bones snorted. “I tried, but it didn’t go well. Never try to lecture a Vulcan. Takes the steam right out of a good rant when they admit their fault before you’re even halfway through the first sentence.” He snapped his tricorder shut and stowed it away.

“So, what was up with Spock anyway? Did you figure it out?” 

If anything, Jim had infinite trust that Bones could figure out just about any medical condition in this and any other solar system. 

“I think so, mostly. Maybe. No thanks to Spock, though. That passionless prick snapped shut tighter than an Andorian clam when I asked him about it.” Bones shook his head and muttered another unintelligible insult towards the Vulcan. “Insisted it was deeply personal and that he’d accept any and all consequences for his crime.”

“And what did you tell him?” 

Jim could not imagine the conversation that had taken place while he was out for the count.

“I told him to stuff it, go to his quarters, and wait for future orders.” 

“You let him sweat it?” 

Jim was off the bio bed and on his feet in a heart beat then regretted that move a second later when his legs almost gave out on him from the pain lancing down his spine. 

“Damnit, Jim. Take it easy.” Bones had a tight grip on Jim's upper arms, keeping him upright. “He deserved to sweat a little for what he did.”

“It’s not like he did it on purpose!” 

The fact that Jim knew that was as strange as his sudden outrage. Why should he get upset that Spock was getting punished for trying to kill him? This was so messed up. 

“And how would you know that?” Bones’ voice was eerily calm.

Jim felt like a specimen on a cell-culture dish under his friend’s gaze. 

“'Cause I know.” Jim was not going to get into this. Mostly because he had no idea what 'this' actually was. “Now, will you give me something to stop my legs from feeling like rubber so I can go put my first officer out of his misery?” 

Bones looked at him. “I’m a doctor, Jim, not a miracle healer.” 

“Guess that means no. Great.” Jim scowled as he limped slowly in the direction of the door.

“You should really…”

“Stuff it, Bones. You can stay here and wait for future orders.” 

~~

By the time he reached the cramped unit he shared with Spock, Jim's legs felt a little more solid and the pain had dwindled down to a manageable level. He could even walk without having to wince at every step.

Standing in front of the closed doors, he hesitated for a moment. Spock would have some explaining to do. Jim hated those kinds of talks. But there was nothing for it. He’d have to suck it up and get it over with. He took a deep breath and stepped into the sensor lines. The door slid open with a soft swishing sound.

Spock sat with his back to the door and didn’t even bother to turn around when Jim entered. “I gather my fate has been decided?”

Jim smirked. “Well, I don’t know about your fate, but if you’re talking about me pressing charges-” 

“Captain!” 

Spock whirled around, and Jim was assaulted by six foot plus Vulcan male, two inhumanly strong hands gripping his arms. 

“Jim!” 

It was a good thing Jim’s eyes were wide open in shock or he would have missed the brilliant smile flash like lightning across his first officer's face before Spock quickly reassembled his shroud of dignity and logic. The strangest feeling of drifting away came over Jim as those hands released him and Spock folded them neatly behind his back. 

“I’m pleased to see you, Captain. You seem… uninjured.” 

“Well, I don’t know about uninjured.” Jim rubbed his neck with a grimace. “You pack quite a punch.” 

Spock took that compliment like he took most insults, without any type of outward reaction.

“I am still at somewhat of a loss. I was under the impression that you were dead. When I talked to Doctor McCoy he made no mention-”

Jim interrupted him with a slow wave of his hand. “Bones was being an ass.” He fell gratefully and gracelessly into his own bed. “He injected me with some kind of neuro paralyzer. Knocked me out. I guess it looked convincing enough to simulate my death.” 

He stretched out as far as his arms and legs could reach and let out a long breath. “And after I catch some sleep, I expect an explanation from you and your girlfriend why this little brawl happened in the first place.” 

“Captain, I-”

“No excuses, Spock. I’m sore, I’m bruised, I’m tired as hell, and I know this time I didn’t start it, so I want to know what the hell happened.” A huge yawn split his face open. “But first I want a nap.” 

“Very well, Captain.” 

If Spock sounded a little embarrassed it didn't really register with Jim because he was already half-way to la-la land. 

~~

Jim settled behind his desk and stared at the two crew members on the opposite side. He was completely at a loss how to properly work this. Jim was usually the one being called to task, not the one doing the calling. This was so wrong.

“So, let’s have it.” 

He folded his hands like he’d seen Admiral Pike do and tried to give them his best no-nonsense look. 

Neither Spock nor Uhura said anything as they stared back at him. Both of them just sat primly in their chairs with their mouths firmly shut. 

“Alright, let’s start with some basic vocabulary then. What the hell is Pon Farr and how does Kal-if-fee translate into me getting my ass handed to me by my first officer?”

From the limited bits of insight Bones had gleaned, it was a Vulcan mating ritual that required either marriage or a fight to the death for resolution, but Jim had a feeling that didn't even begin to cover the ins and outs of what had happened. 

Spock arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth, and Jim just knew what he would say so he cut him off before it could happen. 

“Figure of speech, Spock. Don’t pretend you don’t understand because we both know you do.” 

Spock’s mouth snapped shut. He arched a curious eyebrow but then resumed his silent posture on the chair. Jim was getting nowhere fast with that one. So he turned to the weaker link, figuratively speaking.

“Uhura. Care to explain?”

She shared a hesitant look with Spock then looked at Jim, opened her mouth then snapped it shut again and looked back at Spock before she once again turned her eyes on Jim. 

“Sometime this century, Lieutenant, or do I have to make it an order?” 

Uhura looked pained, and her eyes glued onto some invisible spot on the desk between them before she finally opened her mouth and started talking. 

“Pon Farr is a … It’s … I suppose you could say it’s… um…” 

She chewed on her bottom lip. Then her eyes snapped up from the desk and fixed on him with fierce pride. 

“I really can’t talk about this, sir. I would betray Commander Spock’s confidence, and that is not something I can do. I’m willing to accept any form of reprimand that you deem necessary for my lack of cooperation, but I cannot in good conscience answer your questions.”

Jim couldn’t believe his ears. “Well, isn’t that just peachy? Now I have two crew members who are apparently secret masochists and would rather throw themselves at the mercy of Court Martial than answer a simple question.” 

He leaned forward, braced his arms on the desk and gave up on the disciplinary game because he was just not that type of captain. 

“Guys, what is wrong with you? I thought we’re all friends here.” 

As it turned out, he might as well have been pleading with a couple of statues. Neither one gave an inch. And when it came down to it, Jim was just not willing to take them to Court Martial for the information. The matter was unceremoniously dropped, and everyone seemed to agree that the best thing to do was to never mention it again. 

~~

Another week later, Jim was pretty sure he was going insane. Since his brawl with Spock and the subsequent lack of information on why it had happened in the first place, he’d had the same dream every night. Well, not the exact same dream. Stuff changed, but the surroundings were usually made up of red, stormy desert - sometimes in a city, sometimes in the mountains - and Spock was always there - bugging the shit out of him - as an invisible specter talking in an ominous echoing voice. Things made little to no sense because Jim didn’t speak Vulcan, and pretty much the only thing he could make out of the guttural rambling was one word, probably a name, popping up again and again. 

Over the past week, he’d cobbled together the explanation that it was most likely a side-effect from the mind-meld with the older Spock almost two years ago on Delta Vega. Jim figured that the setting of his dreams was the planet Vulcan as the old Spock remembered it. He also noticed that he was an incredibly sensory dreamer because Jim swore he could feel the sand stuck in his teeth and the sweat sliding down his back after he woke up. Then again, the room temperature was still set to a maddening 90 degrees in their cabin.

It was getting annoying. So, his only option was to ask Spock about it, figure out what the unresolved issues of the old guy were and possibly ask his first officer to screw with his mind some more to make it stop. 

He saw his opportunity when he walked into the cafeteria for a late lunch. A few of his crew were milling about, and Jim spotted his first officer at a table with Uhura, and Bones of all people. 

The doctor had still not given up on finding out what had put the Vulcan’s panties in a twist, but Jim knew Bones was beating a dead horse. Jim hadn’t even bothered with further research because he was pretty sure that if whatever had happened wasn’t talked about in polite society, the Vulcans wouldn’t make it easy to research by writing books like ‘Pon Farr for Dummies’. He could only hope that the stuff he was going to ask about now was less of a taboo subject. 

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and closed in for the kill.

“Hey. How's it going? Haven't seen you in forever. May I join you?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Jim set his tray on the table, plopped down on the empty seat across from Spock, and met the Vulcan's arched eyebrow with one of his own. 

“Captain,” Spock said by way of a greeting. “It has been less than two hours since we last saw each other in our shared living quarters.” 

“Oh, you know.” Jim shrugged nonchalantly, spearing a piece of meat with his fork. “Just a figure of speech.” 

And Jim knew that Spock knew that. Just like he knew that there was a small tingle of annoyance crawling up the Vulcan's spine under all that nonchalant eyebrow arching. 

“Hello to you too, Jim.” Bones uttered his greeting in a slow drawl.

“Make yourself at home, why don't you?” Uhura said waspishly. 

Jim was surprised how quickly he had drowned out the other two people at the table. He blinked and shook his head, shoving a bite of meat and gravy into his mouth to give himself some time to recover. 

“So, can I ask you something?” He licked his lips, shoveled another bite onto his fork and focused on Spock once more. “Who or what does 'Tyler' mean in Vulcan? ‘Cause I've been having these dreams-” 

Uhura's fork dropped to her tray with a clatter. 

Spock looked as if the broomstick up his ass had been pushed all the way to his neck. 

Bones pursed his lips as if he had swallowed something vile and spit into his napkin. 

“Raisins,” he said in disgust. 

Then he noticed Spock and Uhura's reactions and turned to Jim with a confused look.

All eyes were on Jim, so he stopped his fork halfway to his mouth and put it back down. 

“What?” 

“T’hai’la,” said Spock.

Jim felt the brush of warm fingertips touch the nape of his neck and ghost down the length of his spine. He sucked in a startled breath, nostril's flaring. Then he quickly cleared his throat and tried to look unfazed. 

“Yeah.” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat again. “That.” 

Uhura made a disbelieving noise and shook her head. “You've got to be kidding.” She got up and walked away from the table in long, determined strides. 

“What?” Jim asked defensively. 

Spock's gaze bored into him as if he was trying to initiate a mind-meld from across the table.

“It is a term for a concept that does not exist as such in human languages, reserved for the most intimate of relationships between two people.” 

Jim's mouth had gone dry, and it felt like the temperature in the room was rising rapidly as Spock continued in a voice completely devoid of passion, unfitting with the subject he was talking about. 

“It encompasses, as a whole, the ideas of friendship, brotherhood, and love in their varied forms.” 

Jim could feel his blood start to boil. It felt like the air around him held him trapped in place. He couldn't move a muscle if he tried. His pulse started to pound in his ears. He could hear the old Spock's voice echo in his mind – I have been and always shall be your friend - and something inside him whispered fiercely in answer. Liar. 

“I see.” 

Their surroundings disappeared to parts unknown. Jim's vision narrowed down to the man on the other side of the table staring dispassionately back at him. He could taste the bitter acid of some unknown emotion on the roof of his mouth. 

“We need to talk.” 

Spock didn't protest or question the statement. He got up from the table and motioned towards the exit. 

“After you, Captain.” 

The invisible hold on Jim loosened just enough to allow him to rise to his feet and walk stiffly out of the cafeteria. He could feel Spock behind him and every inch of air between them. 

~~

The door to their shared quarters had barely swished shut behind them before Jim was up in Spock's face. 

“You fucked me up!” 

“I don't understand.” Spock looked mildly confused but otherwise unfazed by the accusation. 

“You. The other you. The old you. You fucked me up with that weird mind crap, and now I'm going crazy!” 

“What?” Spock's eyes widened in alarm. 

A trickle of satisfaction ran down Jim's spine at the obvious sign of emotion. “You heard me. That old geezer did something to me when he info-dumped his story into my brain, and now I can't get it out of my head.” 

Spock's face was ashen, verging on a sickly shade of gray, as he realized what Jim was telling him. 

“You never said-”

“Yeah, well, I'm saying it now.” 

Jim yanked his fingers through his hair and looked around wildly. He really wanted to kick something, so he kicked the trashcan next to his bed. 

“Fuck!” 

That hadn't been nearly satisfying enough. 

“If you could tell me what happened...” Spock sounded like he was about to lose his lunch. 

Jim reeled around with a snarl, pressing his fingers against his left temple. “You sure you don't wanna put your hand on my face instead and just get right on in there?” He wasn't sure why he was so angry, just that it felt right, and he needed to get it out. “Just grab every thought, every feeling, every bit of me you can get your dirty mind on, and make yourself at home. Isn't that the Vulcans' preferred method of sharing?” 

“I would never…” Spock sounded breathless. 

“Oh, but you did,” Jim said snidely. 

He turned his back on the stricken face of his first officer and tried to get a hold of himself. This was not what he'd meant to do. Especially, when he thought about what he needed Spock to do next. 

“He did,” Jim amended more calmly. “And I need you to do it again.” 

“Impossible.” Spock's voice was suddenly very firm.

“Bullshit.” Jim was not in the mood for moral sensitivities. “Your alter ego messed me up, and since he's not around to fix it, you're gonna have to do.” 

Jim decided it was time for a stiff drink. He flipped up his mattress, going for the storage compartment underneath, and pulled out a bottle of scotch he had stashed there for emergencies. Ignoring the glare from behind him, Jim stalked into the bathroom, upended the toothbrush cup into the sink, and filled it with a healthy amount of liquor before he returned to the other room. Jim took a swig, then another one, and pinned Spock with an icy look before he spoke. 

“Look, ever since the old Spock messed with my mind, weird stuff has been happening to me.” He sniffed, wiping his lips with the back of his thumb to hide the tremble in his hand. “I was fine just ignoring it then. But now, it's getting worse.” 

Spock's brow arched in a silent question, and he motioned towards the table. Jim took the invitation for what it was and sat down. The three dimensional chess set was still there, several moves into the game. It didn't look too complicated. And it looked like it was Black's move. How much would it piss Spock off if Jim decided to mess up his no doubt perfect game? He grinned and moved the Queen's Knight. 

“I've been having deja-vus and getting these... nagging feelings.” 

The word was only accurate if 'nagging' was a synonym for ghostly fingers on your skin or knowing something bone deep that you couldn't possibly know. Jim looked up at Spock on the other side of the table, daring him to say something. Spock contemplated the board for a moment and then moved the Queen's Rook. Jim licked his lips, gulped another swig of whiskey and gathered his courage for the next bit. 

“And now, ever since our little Pon Farr induced brawl in the cafeteria, I've started dreaming about you. We're on your planet, you're talking to me in Vulcan, and the word T'hai'la keeps popping up, a lot, in whatever you're telling me.” 

Spock had the decency to avert his gaze and look uncomfortable. 

“Yeah,” Jim said as he moved a King's Pawn. “That's what I thought when I heard your dictionary definition of the word.” 

Spock moved a Queen's Pawn in turn. “I can't imagine why he would have done this to you.” 

The quiet voice sent a chill down Jim's spine, but he stubbornly suppressed the accompanying shudder. He was certain Spock noticed. To his credit, the other man didn't mention it before he continued. 

“The risk of emotional transference during-”

“Emotional transference doesn't begin to describe what I'm dealing with here.” 

Jim slid his fingers around the girth of the Black Queen but didn't move it just yet. He watched as the corners of Spock's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. 

“Like right now,” Jim said through gritted teeth. “All you did was twitch. And I know that you're confused by my attitude, calculating the odds of me flying off the handle, and trying really hard to keep your mouth shut, so you don't caution me to not move the Queen.” He pulled his fingers away from the piece and held up his hand in a gesture of supplication. “There, I won't.” 

Spock's mouth opened but no sound came out as the Vulcan looked at him in a subdued version of shock and awe. 

“I know.” Jim dropped his hand into his lap and balled it into a fist. He hated that the words came out almost like a whine. “There's no way I should know any of this crap. How would I?”

His skin tingled with frustration and he was acutely aware of the sweat dripping down the center of his spine from the heat inside the cramped room. 

“Damn, this place is like a furnace!” Jim pushed away from the table and took off his uniform shirt. “Computer, lower the temperature to 80 degrees Fahrenheit.” 

He twisted around in his chair and tossed the shirt towards the hamper in the bathroom. The heat was easier to bear in just a tank top. When he turned back to the table, Spock was still staring at him intently, but his mouth was pressed into a thin line. Jim pushed his chin out and moved the King's Bishop. 

“Your move.” He crossed his arms. “And would you say something already? It freaks me out when you just sit there, staring at me.”

Spock raised that damnable eyebrow yet again. “What would you like me to say?” 

Jim scoffed. “How about something like, 'Don't worry, Jim', or maybe, 'I know how to fix this, Jim'? I'd even be happy with a lecture on human inferiority as long as it ends with me not having to put up with this...” He waved his hand for lack of a good description. “Whatever it is, anymore.”

Spock contemplated his options for a while and finally moved the White Queen to take Jim's Knight. 

“I'm not sure that I can sincerely offer you those assurances.”

“Of course not.” 

Jim scowled, because he refused to call the expression on his face a pout. His arms were still crossed firmly in front of his chest, and he grumbled under his breath, but he finally managed to look his opponent in the eye. 

“Can you at least go in and tell me what the Spock in there keeps saying?” 

“Jim-”

Before Spock could say anything else, Jim barreled on. “Seriously, it's like a song stuck on repeat that I can't understand the lyrics to. It's driving me nuts.” 

He quickly moved the King's Rook next to his Bishop to threaten Spock's Queen. Spock kept his eyes on the board and did not look up, even after he bid his Queen retreat to the highest level.

“I don't think that is a good idea.” 

“I don't care if it's a good idea!” Jim cleared the top level of the board with one swipe of his hand, sending figurines flying every which way. “Just try to fix this. Please.” 

He leaned heavily on the table; sweat beaded on his face as he stared at Spock. Jim wasn't sure what Spock saw in his eyes, but it was just as well, because whatever it was made him get up and move.

“Sit back down.” Spock said calmly. 

Jim sank back onto the chair and turned to face Spock, letting go of some of the tension with an explosive breath. 

“Thank you.” 

His gaze moved down to follow Spock as his first officer crouched in front of him and reached up a hand. 

“Don't thank me yet.” 

The feeling of Spock's fingertips against his face was hauntingly familiar. Jim felt the connection even before the first conscious thought invaded his mind. His eyes flew open, and he sucked in a breath as Spock's presence rang inside him like the chime of a bell. 

Close your eyes. Relax. 

Spock's voice felt strange but at the same time absolutely natural inside his head. It wasn't the same gravelly tone of the old Spock, but the same cadence, the same melody. The echo wasn't nearly as strong or jarring. The whole sensation was similar but different. Like being under water; only this time he wasn't pushed off a diving board into a pool. It was more like sinking back in the bathtub until your head was under water.

Take a breath. Clear your mind. 

And just like that Jim's thoughts started to quiet down; listening, waiting for what was next, he took a deep breath and slowly let it go. 

Show me the dream. 

An image started to take shape in Jim's mind. He was on a balcony, high above the ground, overlooking the vast red desert of Vulcan below. This was how the dreams started. Jim would be somewhere on the planet Vulcan, and then he would hear it.

Jim recalled the raspy voice, its sound like the weakening repeat of an echo, strange syllables rolling into each other. He didn't know what the old Spock was saying, but he remembered every sound. And every so often one word repeated, over and over: T'hai'la.

I understand now.

Then explain 'cause I sure don't. 

The image in front of Jim blurred as a rapid string of tactile perceptions assaulted his senses without context: the fleeting brush of fingertips on his skin; the firm pressure of a warm hand resting on his shoulder; the sensation of hands clasped tightly in solidarity; arms gripped firmly in support; foreheads touching in quiet commune. 

What you are experiencing is the emotional imprint of decades of shared memories. 

Sights and sounds rushed past: mending injuries; exchanging glances; bickering over differing opinions; the laughter of shared joy along with the cocky thrill of luck triumphing over logic; learning the weight of a gaze; the meaning of a posture held too long; the message of slumped shoulders and curled fists; the high of victory against all odds, chasing the devastation of profound loss.

The depth of emotional hemorrhaging inflicted on you is highly unusual and unexpected from an experienced user of this technique.

Cut him some slack, okay? He just watched his whole world go to shit before we met. 

An involuntary image of Vulcan from the surface of Delta Vega: looking up into a cloudless blue sky as the enormous planet crumpled in on itself, disappearing in a bright swirl of gray sand and stone until there was nothing left. 

Anger – Confusion – Loneliness – Fear slammed into Jim, leaving him breathless as they crushed him from all sides. The scream of a billion souls cut off in abrupt, deafening silence. No air, no light, no sound. Just pain. Spock's pain. Both of them. 

Spock. Sorry. I'm so sorry. Spock, stop. Please. I can't breathe. Stop.

Jim panicked. He had to make the blackness disappear, willed it to change. 

Freckles. Green eyes shaped like a kitten's. A tiny button nose. Red smeared lips and a gap between her front teeth. 

This memory does not belong with the others. 

I know. It belongs to yours truly.

Sunshine and giggles; hanging upside down from the branch of a tree. Watching her run, counting to ten, and giving chase. Catching, tumbling, landing on soft grass. She tasted like cherries and sour pops. He felt like he could lift off the ground and fly away.

Spock's curiosity tickled as he probed at Jim's memory, intensifying the sensations.

Your first kiss. 

Tallula Mae. 

Jim wasn't sure he'd ever felt this warm and fuzzy at the memory, but he had also never remembered it this vividly before. 

This is incredible. No wonder you Vulcans never forget anything. I wonder if I can remember-

I'd rather you didn't. 

Scared, Spock? 

Have you no sense of personal boundaries, Jim?

It was supposed to be a harsh reminder of just how intimately connected they really were. Anything that Jim could think of, Spock would be able to see, hear, and feel. There was literally no place to hide and nothing he could keep a secret while his first officer was inside his mind. He should be freaked out. He should be, but he wasn't. It felt perfectly fine. Jim had a fleeting thought of Spock kicking back and putting his feet up on the proverbial coffee table inside his mind. 

Fascinating.

Whatever. Can you just tell me what he was saying? 

His words express gratitude for having found you, joy over seeing you after so many years apart, and hope that a connection that once was lost could be rekindled. Words of affection, very personal and quite intimate in nature. 

Could you be anymore vague? Come on, give me specifics. 

I do not believe that would be appropriate. 

Seriously? 

Jim, those words are not meant for you. It is obvious that the intended recipient of the message is the other James T. Kirk.

The rebuke stung more than it should have. The familiar chill of rejection spread through Jim's chest. With it came the hot surge of anger to drive away the cold. Then the strangest sensation of vertigo took over, and Jim could feel his emotions drain away like water spilling from a cup. 

My apologies, Jim. I did not mean to imply any inferiority on your part. 

Hey, who said anything about-

In our current state there is no need to say anything. 

Right. No boundaries. I get it.

Silence fell between them. Jim wasn't sure how long it lasted. He was surprised how quiet his mind could be with a Vulcan in it and how comfortable he was with the quiet. But he knew they couldn't hang out inside his head space forever. 

So how do we fix this emotional hemorrhage thing? 

The only way to remedy the effects you are experiencing would be to sever the pathways to these memories, effectively removing them from your conscious and subconscious neural networks. 

Why does that sound like brain surgery?

Because, in essence, that is what it is. 

Jim felt an icy touch bristle the hair at the back of his neck. 

Yeah, I don't know …

A fleeting sensation of warmth smoothed the bristling hair. 

Okay, you gotta quit doing that.

The sensation of an arched eyebrow inside Jim’s mind was like being able to taste the color four.

I apologize. It is best practice to pacify stress as a matter of stabilizing the mind meld.

Right. Got it. So, um, have you ever done this before? Sever someone's memories?

Never.

Great. Yeah, I kinda knew you would say that.

Captain, I do not-

Jim. If you're going to hang out in my mind, you might as well stick with Jim.

Jim, I do not feel qualified to perform this procedure.

Yeah, well, I don't feel qualified to deal with carrying around someone else's emotional crap for the- STOP DOING THAT!

I apologize.

Jim's heartbeat pounded loud and fast in his ears. He felt like shoving Spock, so he shoved at the presence inside his mind. Twice for good measure. 

If I want to feel angry, I'm going to be angry. Stop tranquilizing me. I'm annoyed, and angry, and full of somebody else's emotional baggage! 

He shoved at Spock's presence again, and again, getting more irritated with every fruitless shove. It was like shoving a foam pillow across water in the middle of an ocean. Spock yielded easily, and they weren't going anywhere.

Argh! Just get it out. Sever the nerves. Do what you gotta do. I want to be me again. Just me. Without memories of some other me and some other you. Do it. 

Jim, I really don't …

Do it. Do it! Dammit, Spock! Do-

The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before. Lightning struck his mind in a thousand different places with bright light and bursts of images; fleeting sensations of touch, taste, and smell. The elder Spock's voice was a quieting echo in his head as the red sands of Vulcan disappeared into a black void. 

~~

When Jim woke up, his mouth tasted like moldy gym socks. The familiar beep of medical equipment over his head and the stench of antiseptic spray told him where he was. He groaned and wiped a hand over his face. 

“Bones?” 

“Ah, the princess has woken from her slumber.” Heavy footsteps brought the caustic voice of his friend closer. “You cost me fifty credits.” 

“How's that?” 

“I bet Nurse Chapel that after last week's incident with Spock you'd be able to stay out of med bay for at least a month. She bet you'd be back within a week. You couldn't have waited one more day?”

Jim groaned again. “Sorry, Bones.”

“Yeah, right. So, you want to tell me your side of the story?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“Okay. Then I'm not going to tell you what Spock said, either.” 

“Fine by me.” Jim shrugged. “Can I go?” 

“Your vitals are stable, so I guess.” Bones paused and looked at Jim with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you sure you're okay?” 

“Fit as a fiddle.” Jim cracked his neck and jumped off the medical bed. “Catch you later.” 

~~

Three days later the Enterprise was back on track, cruising around the galaxy en route to the next prospective Federation member planet.

Things were much more relaxed now that Jim didn't have to share his living space with the alien menace known as his first officer Spock. Jim’s private quarters aboard the Enterprise were large, comfortable and set to a permanent feel-good temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit. There was no annoying lute music, no nerve-wrecking meditation periods, and no more disgusted stares at his favorite meal. Everything was as it should be. 

Jim sprawled across the Captain's chair, monarch of all he surveyed, his chin braced on one hand as the fingers of his other hand tapped out a jittery rhythm on the opposite armrest. 

Alpha crew was going about their business with Chekov and Sulu at the helm while Uhura scanned all frequencies for transmissions and Spock did whatever he did at the science station. It was a good day all around.

“Captain,” Uhura said, “I’m receiving a transmission on broadband channel, unknown origin, but it sounds like a repeated message.” 

Jim perked up. “A distress call?” 

“Unknown, Captain. I don’t speak the language, and it’s not known to the ship computer’s translator.”

“Put it on speaker, and see if you can trace the origin of the signal.” 

The chatter that filled the bridge sounded like a jumbled mix of Latin, Greek, and the distinctive clicking sounds of the Khoisan languages of the African desert.

“Sounds like a distress call to me.” Jim shrugged. “Did you get the origin?”

“Yes, Captain,” Uhura said as she cut off the transmission.

“Good. Send the coordinates to Chekov.” He rubbed his hands together with a grin of anticipation. “Ensign Chekhov, scan the area and set a course.” 

“Yes, Captain.” 

“Captain.” Spock moved away from the science station to hover behind Jim’s chair. “May I suggest that we investigate the situation further before-“

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got this, Spock. Get back to your dishes and microbes.” Jim twisted in his chair and dismissed Spock with a wave of his arm. 

Silence dropped like lead as every member of the bridge crew looked at them. Spock hitched a brow and pursed his lips before he acknowledged the dismissal with a perfectly unaffected tone. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

Jim nodded to himself and turned back to the helm with an expression of pure glee, ignoring the looks he was getting from his crew.

“Punch it, Sulu.” 

An hour deeper into the same unknown corner of space, they entered orbit around an M-class planet with a good ninety percent liquid surface; the ten percent that remained looked like they were mostly jungle. 

“Any signs of life down there?” Jim was at the edge of his seat, knee bouncing as he waited for the answer. 

“Mutliple.” 

“Is the transmission still going?” He turned his head to look at Uhura. 

“Yes.” She twisted in her seat, pushing a button on the silver listening device that stuck out of her ear. “It’s a two minute sequence on continuous repeat.”

“Any idea what they’re saying?” Jim raised his brows as his knee bounced faster.

“No,” said Uhura with a smile that was all teeth and no humor. “But the language has five distinct vowel phonemes and at least thirty-five consonants of which twelve are clicks.”

“Interesting.” Jim smiled. “What does that tell us?” 

Uhura scowled. “Absolutely nothing, Captain.” 

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to go down there and see for ourselves what’s going on.” 

“Captain.”

Jim flinched and twisted around to glare at Spock. “What?” 

The Vulcan was hovering behind his chair again. Jim hated that he couldn’t tell when the other man was uncomfortably close until Spock gave himself away. It was annoying and more than a little creepy. 

“I must caution you, Captain. Beaming down into an unknown situation is-“

“Pretty much in our job description, Spock.” Jim interrupted with a grin. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to tear you away from your precious lab. We’ll go down there without you and send you up all the samples your heart desires.” He paused. “Wait, that doesn’t apply to you, does it? How about all the samples your logical mind could strive for? There, that sounds more like you.” 

Jim didn’t wait for a response as he pushed himself out of his chair and strode towards the turbolift. “Uhura, Sulu, you’re coming with me. Chekov, you have the conn.” 

Uhura and Sulu scrambled from their stations to follow him. The rest of the bridge crew watched with open mouths until Spock retreated to his station with a blank face. 

Jim stepped into the turbolift, rubbed his hands together, and grinned like a maniac. 

“Come on, guys. Let’s go on an adventure.” 

~~

The away team materialized in the middle of a small circular clearing surrounded by dense tropical flora. The air was intensely hot and thick with the aroma of strange spices. Jim rubbed his tongue over his palate and smacked his lips at the taste. The sweat breaking out all over his skin didn’t bother him after spending a month bunking with a Vulcan in 90 degree temperatures. He took a curious look around, noting the perfect silence that surrounded them as Sulu scanned the environment, and Uhura confirmed their arrival to the engineering crew on the Enterprise. Jim furrowed his brows and looked a little closer. 

“Does anyone else think this clearing is a little too-”

The whistle and thwip of a feathered dart cut off his sentence. He stared at the dart in his shoulder and had just enough time to roll an apologetic glance in Uhura’s direction before his knees gave out and the world went black. 

When Jim came to, the world was upside down and on fire. He jerked to get away from the flames and realized his wrists and ankles were tied together and slung over a long flexible rod just beside a large camp fire. His stomach lurched and he closed his eyes. 

“This is so not happening.” 

A high-pitched scream from somewhere nearby made his eyes pop back open.

“Uhura?” he shouted, swallowing the panic that rose like bile in his throat. “Leave her alone!” 

He twisted his wrists, testing the knots, and hissed as the coarse rope cut into his skin. 

“Really? You think I sound like a pig?” 

Uhura’s voice made something in Jim’s chest pop like a balloon. He took a shuddering breath.

“Oh, thank God.” He craned his neck around until he found her, tied to another rod, on the other side of the flames. “Uhura, are you okay?” 

“Do I look-“ She bit off her remark and collected herself before she spoke again. “I’m fine, Captain.” 

He winced, drawing blood as he continued to twist his wrists back and forth. “Sulu?”

There was no reply. 

“Sulu!” Jim gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted his wrists harder. 

“He’s not here.” Uhura said between grunts. “They took him somewhere.” 

Another animal scream rent the air. Then a metallic bang echoed through the camp, followed by silence. Jim’s gaze met Uhura’s across the flames. He watched her eyes widen at the same time as his did when a terrible thought crossed his mind. 

“Sulu?!” They yelled for their friend almost at the same time. 

Shit! He was in over his head and had nothing but adrenaline to work with. Jim’s grunts turned into groans, then into a roar as he twisted and pulled his wrists against the ropes, forcing them loose until his hands finally slipped through the coarse twine, bloody and mangled. He sucked in shallow breaths, throwing a frantic look around as he fumbled with the ropes around his ankles, his body jackknifed in an impossible position. They were alone for the moment but surrounded by half a dozen huts made of dried leaves and tree branches. He couldn’t see any of their equipment around the fire. 

The rope gave way and his feet dropped to the ground together with the rest of his weight. Jim landed on his back with a strangled groan and rolled over, crawling on all fours through the dirt to get to Uhura. 

“What are you doing?” she whispered fiercely. “They’re going to kill you!” 

“I’m going to get us out of here,” he ground out, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked at the knots around her wrists.

“We have to find Sulu,” she said and bit down on a high pitched whine as the ropes came loose and she landed in Jim’s arms.

“What’s wrong?” Jim looked at her sharply as he pulled off the ropes around her ankles. 

“Nothing,” she said through gritted teeth as she squirmed away from him.

“Uhura,” he said with a warning glare.

“It’s nothing. We have to find Chekov.” She stood up and swayed on her feet for a second but then found her footing.

Jim frowned. “You mean Sulu.” 

“Yeah, Sulu.” She shook her head. “Right.” 

“Uhura-“

A guttural yell interrupted him. Jim was still on his knees and twisted around to see who was shouting at them. His face fell as he saw a tall, purple skinned man with a sharp curved blade in his hand. The man shouted orders in the strange clicking language, and he was quickly joined by two dozen other men who were armed with knives and spears. One of them was dragging a bloody Sulu by the scruff of his uniform shirt, holding a knife to his throat. 

Jim sank back on his haunches, raised his hands in supplication, and closed his eyes in defeat. 

A deafening crack of thunder echoed through the camp. Light glowed bright orange-red behind Jim’s closed eyelids as an ice-cold gale blew through his clothes, pulled his hair, and froze his face. 

The sound of the voice that followed was as loud as the thunder and as cold as the wind. Jim didn’t understand the language, wasn’t even sure he recognized the voice until he looked back over his shoulder. 

At the edge of the camp, appearing from dense clouds of black and white smoke stood Spock like the Wrath of the Gods personified. He was shouting in what Jim now assumed was Vulcan. His eyes were as black as night, and he looked taller than usual. Three purple men lay prone at his feet. Spock made a decisive hand motion, and another crack of thunder rent the air. More clouds of white plumed around his legs. He pointed at Jim, Uhura, and Sulu. 

The leader of the purple people stood firm, even as his followers cowered and looked to him for direction, their fingers clenching nervously around their weapons. 

“I’d do what he says,” said Jim with a smirk, “and I don’t even know what he’s saying.” 

Spock shouted again and threw his arms out with a flash of blinding light. 

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and crawled in the direction where he’d last seen Uhura. He was still blind when he felt a firm, thin hand hook under his armpit and drag him up and away in a different direction. When he opened his eyes again, he was kneeling at Spock’s feet, looking up with colored squiggles swimming in his vision. Uhura was tucked safely against Spock’s shoulder, and Sulu was lying with his head propped up in Jim’s lap. 

“Mr. Scott, now,” Spock barked.

The next moment, Jim felt the familiar sensation of being dematerialized into his constituent atoms. 

He was still grinning when he rematerialized on the transporter platform of the Enterprise. Jim stood up from his crouch and handed a grumbling Sulu off to the medical team as Uhura stepped off the platform in slow, deliberate steps. She looked a bit worse for wear, but Jim was pretty sure they’d all be fine. 

“Excellent work, Spock,” he said with a smile as he clapped the taller man’s shoulder. 

Spock whirled around, barely restrained fury radiating from every tense muscle in his body. “Do you have any idea how many directives I have just violated to rescue you?” His nostrils flared. 

“Spock, come on.” Jim writhed under the hard stare, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to duck away. “It wasn’t-“

A yelp of surprise cut him off, and Jim turned around to see Uhura’s limp body cradled in the arms of one of the engineers. A stream of blood was trickling from below the hem of her skirt down the outside of her leg. 

They both rushed towards her at the same time as Jim shouted, “Uhura!” and Spock gasped, “Nyota!” 

~~

The slow, steady beep of the machines was maddening. Jim’s knee bounced a mile a minute as he sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, watching over his unconscious communications officer. He hadn’t slept in two days; the same length of time Uhura hadn’t been awake. 

He barely turned around when the door behind his back swished as someone entered the room. Spock looked like refried shit. Jim imagined he didn’t look much better. Neither of them said anything as Spock came closer and sat down on a chair on the opposite side of Uhura’s bed. They sat in silence as the machines beeped and time ticked away. Jim’s knee kept bouncing while Spock sat perfectly still. Something finally broke, and Jim looked up at Spock with self loathing blatant in his scowl.

“I’m sorry.” He clenched his hands into fists and braced them under his chin. “I fucked up.” 

Spock didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at Jim. He just reached out and placed his hand gently over Uhura’s slack fingers. As Spock brushed his thumb over her knuckles, Uhura’s hand twitched. Neither of them reacted to the small sign of life. 

The first time this had happened, they had both called for Bones, hope breaking out like a wild fire between them. Shortly afterwards, the disappointment had tasted like ashes in Jim’s mouth when Bones confirmed that she remained unconscious and unresponsive to most stimuli. Jim licked his lips and looked away.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His knee kept bouncing. “It’s like I can’t help it. I keep thinking about where the hell I went wrong, and I can’t come up with anything, but I clearly fucked up or she wouldn’t be-“ He cut himself off with a frustrated swipe of his hand. “Where the fuck did I go wrong?”

Spock still didn’t say anything, but he slowly turned his head to look at Jim, dark eyes steady and calculating as their gaze rested on Jim’s face. 

“I feel like…” Jim huffed and yanked a hand through his hair. A memory of screeching tires and dust flying around a red convertible flashed through his mind. He laughed. “It’s like back when I stole my step dad's car. It was stupid, but it felt good. Man, it felt so good. Like I was flying. Nothing could get me. Not Frank, not that cop, not even that damn canyon.” He grinned as his heart started to beat faster. “I was gonna run that damn car right off that cliff and nothing could stop me. Invincible. Yeah.” Jim chuckled. “I just never figured she wasn’t.” There was a painful pressure behind his eyes, so he rubbed his fingers over them and pinched them shut until the pressure disappeared. “I never meant for her to get hurt.” 

Jim shook his head, rocking back and forth as his knee jittered, trying to figure out where and why things had gone so spectacularly wrong. This wasn’t like him, not anymore, not for a long time. He was impulsive and hard-headed, but he wasn’t reckless, not with the lives of his crew. 

“It’s not right. I’m not right. I just can’t figure out what’s changed.” 

He looked at Spock, desperate to see understanding in the other man’s face, hoping for the glimpse of an answer or a solution. He nearly laughed when the Vulcan looked at him blankly and twitched his lips. It was like Jim was talking to a wall made of flesh and bone. 

“Is any of this even making it through that thick Vulcan skull or am I just talking to myself?” 

Spock’s brows furrowed as he cocked his head to the side with a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured.

“A mind untempered by logic is as dangerous as a fever without a cure.”

Jim’s jaw dropped as he blinked in confusion. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“A Vulcan proverb.”

Jim watched as Spock released Uhura’s hand and linked his fingers in front of his face in contemplation. He watched Spock raise a single brow and purse his lips, then furrow both brows deeply and nod to himself. 

The fact that Jim had absolutely no idea what was going on in Spock’s mind was vexing to no end. All he wanted to do was grab Spock’s face and force his way past those bushy brows into the mind beyond and just know without having to be told. Jim’s eyes widened.

“Oh, shit.” A cold bead of sweat ran down Jim’s spine as realization dawned on him. “This is because of what we did to my memories, isn’t it?” 

“While correlation does not imply causation, it is notable that the timing of the alteration of your memories coincides with the changes in your character.” 

“Which is a long-winded way of saying we screwed up.” 

“I said no such thing.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

Jim looked away from Spock, and his gaze landed on the ashen face of Nyota Uhura. He felt like the world’s biggest ass for getting her hurt. If he had just put up with whatever had been in his head thanks to the first mind meld with the old Spock, Jim had a feeling this would never have happened. It was his selfishness, stupidity, and recklessness that had caused this. It was his responsibility to fix it. He sprung up from his chair and grabbed Uhura’s hand then leaned close to whisper in her ear. 

“You’ve gotta wake up, girl. I deserve a good punch in the face for this.” 

Jim straightened up and shook himself off, fixing his eyes on Spock’s impassive face. “I’m going to fix this.” He pointed at his own head. 

Spock regarded him with arched brows. “And how do you propose to do so?” 

“Simple. First, we’re going to New Vulcan. I have to see an old friend.” 

Jim could have sworn that Spock’s back went rigid and the look in his dark eyes became guarded at the word ‘friend’, but he shook off the strange reaction, and walked out of sick bay, heading for the bridge.

~~

They spent about an hour waiting in line at the Federation Administrative Offices in New Vulcan before it was finally their turn. The Vulcan lady behind the helpdesk received them with a polite and efficient greeting.

“How may I help you?”

“Hello,” Jim drawled. “Lovely day, isn’t it? See, we were wondering if you could do us a teensy favor.” He held his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart as his other hand tapped out a rhythm on the counter. 

The administrative officer arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “That implies you are asking me for something that is outside of the range of regular customer service. If so, I must inform you that-”

“I apologize for interrupting.” Spock raised a hand to stave off the rest of her explanation. “We are here to see Ambassador Spock.” 

She blinked. “That is impossible.” 

“Oh, come on.” Jim wheedled, flashing the woman his most flirtatious smile. “The old man knows us. I’m sure if you give him a call, he’ll be more than happy to make time.” 

The administrative officer had regarded him with a look of polite disregard as she waited for him to finish. Now she folded her hands primly in front of her and leaned forward. 

“You misunderstood,” she said with the nonchalance of an experienced customer service agent, “It is impossible to meet with him because Ambassador Spock is dead. He passed away two months ago.” 

Jim’s stomach clenched as a cold feeling spread through his chest; his hands stilled on the counter. It didn’t feel real. Next to him, Spock stood perfectly still with his hands clasped behind his back and a blank expression on his face. Jim shook his head and looked back at the woman behind the counter. 

“How?” His voice croaked. 

The lady tilted her head and looked at Jim as if he was a particularly dimwitted human being. “Ambassador Spock was one hundred and sixty years old. For someone like him it’s really quite remarkable to have reached that age. He passed away in his sleep.” 

Jim didn’t like the way she said it. He cleared his throat and bestowed the woman with a narrow eyed glare. “And what exactly do you mean with ‘someone like him’?”

“She is referring to the fact that Ambassador Spock was half human.” Spock’s voice was steady. His hands remained clasped behind his back.

Jim’s jaw dropped as he looked back at the bitch behind the counter. He sucked in a breath and raised a finger to give her a piece of his mind, but Spock beat him to it. 

“Could you refer us to a Vulcan physician, preferably a specialist in the practice of psionic techniques?”

Jim stared at Spock in disbelief. He couldn’t get over the fact how cold and unaffected the Vulcan appeared in the face of his alter ego’s death. However, as he looked closer, Jim could see the cracks in the façade. While Spock appeared to stand at rest, every muscle in his body was tense as a bow string as one of his hands clasped the opposite wrist in a vice grip behind his back. His face was blank, but the look in his eyes was directed at a distance far beyond the wall less than six feet in front of them, and tension stretched along the hard line of his jaw below his firmly closed mouth.

The woman tapped a few keys on her computer and rattled off a name and address, not bothering to give them time to take down the coordinates on a PADD. 

Jim watched in a daze, disconnected from his own body, as Spock nodded and ushered him to the exit with one hand on his shoulder, treating Jim like a spooked horse. 

~~

It still didn’t feel real when they got out of the taxi and walked into the doctor’s office. The old Spock was dead, and nobody had bothered to tell them. They may have been on an unplanned hiatus aboard a space station, but as far as Jim knew, their communicators had worked just fine. He felt betrayed. His scowl deepened as he sat on yet another uncomfortable plastic chair and waited for his turn with the doctor while Spock took care of all the paperwork and explanations. Jim was happy to let him handle things. He was in no mood to deal with another Vulcan right now. 

The psionic specialist turned out to be another Vulcan female, and Jim had half a mind to walk straight out of the office and never look back. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of Uhura lying pale and unconscious in the medical bay on board the Enterprise because Jim’s mind wasn’t right. He gritted his teeth and hopped up on the exam table. 

“Do your worst,” he said with a grim smile. 

When she placed her fingers along his forehead, the sensation of her mind entering Jim’s felt like having a bucket of cold slime dumped over his head. He flinched and gagged at the intrusion as every part of him recoiled from the nastiness. It was awful until it was over. Jim’s gaze raced to the clock on the wall, surprised to see that only a couple of minutes had passed. 

The doctor stepped away from him and crossed the room. She took a seat behind her desk and extended a hand towards the empty visitor’s chair next to the one Spock had occupied. Jim followed her invitation and dropped onto the cushion like a glob of frozen jelly.

“Lay it on me, doc.” 

She linked her fingers and looked at him with scientific interest. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” 

“What?” Jim’s brows rose to his hairline as his eyes flew from the doctor to Spock who looked like he was straining to keep his brows low on his forehead.

“Are you certain?” Spock asked in a mild tone. 

“Absolutely.” The doctor leaned back in her chair. “The neural pathways have been cleanly severed, and there is no damage to the surrounding neural tissues. It was admirable work, in fact, stunningly accurate for someone who lacks formal training in psionic surgery.” She favored Spock with a nod of acknowledgment. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.” 

Jim deflated. His stomach churned as if he’d guzzled a bad slushy, and he squirmed as his mind fought against the implication of her diagnosis. 

“Can you put it back anyway?” 

He could feel Spock’s eyes on him, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the doctor. 

She shook her head. “Unfortunately, that is impossible. While the physical connections could be reestablished, this would not restore the memories that were erased when the pathways were severed.” 

Jim slammed his fist on the armrest and bit back a scream of frustration. 

“Mr. Kirk, I’m not sure I understand what it is that you are trying to regain. From what your friend has told me,” she said with a glance towards Spock, “the memories that were removed were not yours but those of a significantly older person who transferred them erroneously during a time of great emotional distress.”

Jim didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t care less what the actual memories had been. The problem was that whatever they had been had made him a better captain, no, a better person. He felt even worse knowing that the old Spock was dead. The man had trusted Jim with his private thoughts and memories, and Jim had nothing better to do than whine about it and get them removed. Now there was no way to get them back and pretty much no one left to remember who old Spock really had been. Congratulations, Jimmy boy. You fucked up again on all accounts. 

“I gotta get out of here.” 

He pushed himself out of the chair and strode out of the room. His mind wasn’t right. Jim burst through the glass doors into the sweltering heat outside and glared up into the orange skies above. There was no way to put it back. Sweat broke out on his skin as he looked around, watching people pass by; they were going about their lives oblivious to the fact that the legend who had created their universe was dead and the guy who’d thrown away the legend’s memories was standing right across the street from them. Jim laughed because he lacked the tears for crying. 

There was a neat row of motorcycles parked outside the doctor’s office. 

“Captain?” 

He ignored Spock’s call and didn’t waste time thinking about what he was doing. Jim stalked over to the gleaming machines, straddled the fastest one, and pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket. 

“Jim, what are you doing?” 

He flicked the blade from its sheath, stuck it in the ignition and gave the butt a harsh tap as he twisted it to the right. The engine roared to life. 

“Jim!” 

He tore out of the space and gunned it down the street. A glance in the rear-view mirror showed him Spock take out his communicator and flip it open. 

~~

By the time Spock found him, Jim was three sheets to the wind in a dive bar at the edge of town. A neat row of empty shot glasses was lined up on the counter in front of him. Jim decided he needed another one. He ordered it up, the bartender put it down, and then the glass disappeared right in front of him. 

“Hey!” He rolled to the side, bracing his weight on the counter, and looked up at the Vulcan through narrowed eyes. 

“You are drunk.” Spock stated the obvious. “And you stole a motorcycle.” 

Jim shrugged and slid off the bar stool like molasses, staggering in the direction of away-from-Spock. He could feel his face stretch with a grin as he caught sight of a pool table. 

“Hell, yeah.” 

There was a beefy guy perched beside it with a pool cue clamped in the crook of his elbow. Jim approached the broad leather-clad back and planted both hands on the man’s shoulders. 

“You and me, cupcake.” 

“The hell?” Beer sloshed everywhere, and the guy turned around with a half empty glass, a wet shirt, and a murderous glare. 

“Oops.” Jim giggled and patted at the wet chest, trying to wipe off the beer spill. “S-sorry. My bad. So sorry.” He couldn’t stop snickering. “Still wanna play?”

He saw the fist sailing for his face and squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

When the impact didn’t come, Jim cracked one eye open and trundled on his feet as he tried to get a picture of what was going on. The fist was still there, but it was held up by someone’s iron grip. Jim’s eyes trailed from the hand to its owner. 

Spock looked – Jim opened both eyes and staggered forward – he looked pissed, in a restrained, polite sort of almost like a British way. Maybe Canadian. Spock said something to the big guy, and Jim had to strain his ears to hear him. 

“I apologize, my friend is incapacitated. I will remove him from the premises. If you wish, I will reimburse you for your losses.” 

“Yeah? How about you let go of me and I beat the daylights out of-ah-Ah!” The man uttered a strangled grunt and started to writhe like an eel.

Jim looked back at the guy’s arm and, sure enough, Spock’s grip was tightening. Jim nodded in sympathy then frowned and shook his head. This wasn’t right. He totally deserved what the guy wanted to dish out, what with the shirt and the beer and all. Plus, he still owed Uhura for being a stupid ass and getting her hurt.

“S’alright, Spock,” he slurred. “Let’im go.” He curled his arms in a come on motion. “I deserve it. ‘s’not like she can do it 'erself. So c'm'on.” He curled his arms again and stuck his chin out towards the guy. “You get one for the shirt, one for the beer, and one for the girl.” He squinted at the shirt and then at the meaty fist in Spock’s grip. “Maybe just one for the beer and one for the girl.” 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” The guy grimaced in disgust. “Just get him out of here.” He stepped back, glaring at Spock as he rubbed his sore arm. 

Spock didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Jim by the scruff of the neck and started dragging him like a bad puppy, and Jim fought it. He struggled against the hold and twisted around, trying to squirm out of Spock’s grip. 

“L’me go!” 

He pried at the Vulcan’s fingers but it got him nowhere as he stumbled alongside the taller man out of the bar and into the frigid night air. 

“Lemme go!” 

Jim threw his whole weight into the struggle, so when Spock did let him go, he careened out of control and took a nosedive into the dirt. 

“Are you done?” Spock’s tone was calm and devoid of pity. 

Jim turned around and lay down in the dirt, sprawling his arms and legs as he looked at the starlit sky. Was he done? He was pretty sure he was. 

“You should have let him hit me,” he said with conviction. “I deserve it.” 

“You are drunk and emotional. You are not thinking clearly.” 

“I’m an ass and a failure. I think that’s pretty much as clear as it gets.” 

“Why would you think that?” 

Something in Spock’s tone had changed. It made Jim crane his neck to look up at the other man. Spock was standing at Jim’s feet, arms folded behind his back, looking down at Jim with mild interest. 

Jim sighed. “Because it’s true.” He pulled himself up and braced his weight on one elbow. “Me without you here?” He tapped his temple. “Is a reckless, stupid ass who gets people he cares about killed.” 

“Nyota is not dead,” Spock said in the tone of a final verdict. 

“Might as well be.” Jim looked down as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And Spock.” 

“What?”

“Not you,” he said with a groan as he fell onto his back. “The old one.” 

“Certainly you’re not suggesting you had anything to do with his death?” 

“No, but I sure killed his memories, didn’t I?” Jim pouted at the stars above, arms folded in front of his chest as he rubbed at a sore spot and burped. “All gone,” he said. “No one left to remember.” 

“Jim, there is no reason for this maudlin behavior. It’s illogical.” 

“Yeah?” Jim shrugged. “Blame the alcohol.” 

“Instead of assigning blame, it would be far more productive to address the issue that has led to this wanton display of immaturity.” 

Jim giggled. His shoulders shook and his belly trembled as he lay in the dirt, laughing at his oh so Vulcan first officer. 

“Of course,” he said with a snort. “That would be…” He sucked in a blubbering breath, fighting to get the next word out. “Logical.” 

“I fail to see what is so amusing.” 

Jim shook his head and smiled at Spock with the gormless wit of the severely drunk. The man’s shoulders were as stiff as a board and his mouth was doing that thing where it was a straight line halfway between his nose and chin, and his bushy, pointy brows were slanting at a forty-five degree angle towards his nose. Spock was working so hard on not looking angry that it made him look even angrier. Jim snorted and closed his eyes. 

“It’s funny because it’s so damn sad.” Jim sighed. “I go through all the trouble to get Spock’s memories out of my head, and then I realize that’s actually a bad thing, so I want them back in, but I can’t have that because he’s dead, so all those memories are gone forever, and I’ll never have Spock in my head again, so I’ll probably get all of us killed.” 

Jim had no idea what it was he should be remembering, but it was pretty obvious that the Spock shaped hole in his mind had a pretty damn big impact on his personality in the worst way possible. The Vulcan doctor was point blank wrong in her assessment after pouring over his brain like a bucket of slime for all of two damn minutes. What did she know anyway?

“Absolutely nothing wrong with, my ass,” he grumbled under his breath. 

Somewhere in the complete blank between meeting old Spock in a cave on Delta Vega and setting foot in the science station on the same planet, Jim was missing something big. Something that stopped him from being a reckless ass to the point of getting his crew mates, his friends, killed for no reason. He needed that part back. Of course, there was no way to get it back. The doctor had made that very clear. Bitch. 

Jim’s teeth started to chatter as he contemplated the night sky. The ground was damn cold. The air was cold too. Maybe he should sit up. He was going to catch hypothermia out here. It almost made him miss the 90 degree sardine can he’d shared with Spock on the space station. Almost. Not quite. 90 degrees was a little much. 85 was probably fine. 

Shit, if he was feeling cold, Spock most be positively frozen stiff. Jim sat up and blinked like an owl, trying to determine in the dim light from the bar whether Spock’s lips were their normal color or that weird grayish tint they got when the ambient temperature was too cold for too long. Spock’s current tightlipped expression wasn’t very helpful in that regard.

“Are you done?” Spock asked again. 

Jim shrugged, a drunken roll of both shoulders, and held out one hand, wiggling it around in the quest for a little support to get back on his feet. Spock ignored him with an expression carved out of stone. 

“You have failed to notice one significant detail in the course of your melodramatic tantrum.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jim dropped his hand and cocked his head to the side as he thought about it. “What’s that?” 

As far as he was concerned, he was pretty sure he’d summed it all up. What else could there be that he might have missed? He looked back up at Spock, still trying to figure out if the man’s lips were green or gray. And what was the quickest way to a warm bed and maybe a glass of water to prevent the mother of all hangovers? Who was on engineering duty anyway? There was an art to transporting a drunk person, and Jim wasn’t sure he trusted just any old ensign with it. Maybe he should take the bike to the nearest motel instead, crash for the night, and get back to the Enterprise when he was sober. Wait, was that a good idea? Ah, what the hell, what did it matter? He’d be fine. Right as rain. Wouldn’t it be funny if it started to rain now? 

“I’m still here,” said Spock.

“Huh?” said Jim. 

Spock shook his head and Jim watched, fascinated, as the other man dropped his tight-lipped expression, rolled his eyes and reached for Jim with both hands. Jim felt a bit silly being picked up like a kid who had fallen on his ass, and it didn’t get better when Spock actually brushed the dirt off his jacket with quick, hard swipes of his hand. Thankfully, Spock stopped short of swatting his ass. That made Jim giggle uncontrollably and he lost his balance, leaning against Spock’s shoulder to stay upright. He pressed his lips together to quench the noise and to stop himself from saying “Sorry, Mom.” 

Instead, he watched with blurry eyes as Spock supported his weight one-handed and pulled out his communicator with the other. 

“Spock to Engineering, Mr. Scott?” 

“Engineering, this is Scotty. What canna do ye’fer?” 

“Two to beam up,” Spock said calmly.

“Hey, Scotty!” Jim yelled into the communicator. “Awesome. Get me home?” 

Spock pulled the communicator out of his reach with a glare.

“I apologize. Captain Kirk is currently inebriated.” 

“Say no more.” 

~~

Jim woke up in the comfort of his own bed, mostly undressed, with a blanket tucked under his chin. His temples were beating the rhythm to the marching band in his head, and his tongue tasted like he’d licked something rancid and hairy. He rolled over with a groan and squinted at the alarm clock on his bedside table; it was way too early am. Someone had placed a tall glass of water right next to the alarm clock. Jim grabbed it with an appreciative grunt and guzzled it down. When he’d finished, he sat up and cracked his neck, first left then right, before he looked around the room for his shirt. 

Jim was surprised but not the least bit perturbed to find Spock sitting at the table across the room; it was more perplexing that Spock had brought over his chess set while he was out cold. Jim tried to scrape up memories from the previous night and failed to come up with much of anything past the moment where Spock picked him up from the dirty ground outside that dive bar. After a false start with a croak, he cleared his throat and tried again. 

“What’d I miss?” 

“Nothing of note.” Spock’s voice was smooth. 

Jim noted that the chess board was in the middle of a game. It looked like Black might be winning if White didn’t get the Queen out of hell’s kitchen on the next move or send a Rook to rescue her. Jim felt his fingers twitch, but he curled them into the mattress.

“Have you been playing all night?” 

“Most of it.”

“Who’s winning?” Jim managed a grin. 

Spock sat back to look at the board, contemplated each level for a maddening amount of time, and laid down the White King. Then he looked up at Jim with a piercing stare under furrowed brows.

“Do you remember what you said last night?” 

“Um.” 

Spock did not give him the chance to cast about or make a joke out of the vague question. 

“To paraphrase: you inferred that without the memories of my alter ego, you were somehow a lesser person.” 

“Yeah.” Jim sounded dumb even to his own ears.

“I gave this supposition a great deal of thought last night while you were sleeping off your drunken stupor.” 

“Oh.” 

Not knowing what to expect, Jim snapped his mouth shut and waited to see where Spock was going with that particular train of thought. It seemed almost out of character when Spock linked his fingers in his lap and settled into a relaxed position on the chair before he started to speak. 

“When I first encountered my alter ego face to face, after our return to Earth upon defeat of the Narada, he urged me to remain in Starfleet. He said if I did not, it would deprive me of a friendship that would define you and me both in ways that I could not yet realize.” 

Jim smirked as he tried to imagine the stiff meeting of logical minds. Then it occurred to him that the world should have ended pretty much the second that had happened.

“Wait. You met?” Jim huffed. “He lied to me.” 

“You were misled by your own assumptions in regards to the possible impact of a meeting between myself and my alter ego.” The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. 

If Jim didn't know better, he would have called that a smug smile, but Vulcans didn't do smugness, and there was no way Spock would show his emotions so openly. Jim narrowed his eyes and decided to mull over that thought later.

“Go on,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

“At the time, I did not grasp the meaning of his words, but I did trust his judgment as I would have my own, so I remained in Starfleet to serve as your first officer aboard the USS Enterprise.”

Jim knew that part. It had led to an interesting sequence of events and a mercurial working relationship over the past two years, including a couple near misses like the crazy stint on Nibiru or the disaster that had been Khan which could have led to all out war with the Klingon empire and which culminated in a surreal moment of closeness between Spock and Jim before Jim passed out from radiation poisoning. He wasn't sure what any of this had to do with his current predicament. 

Spock leaned forward, his arms braced on his thighs while his fingers remained loosely folded between his knees. He looked all together too calm and content for a person whose girlfriend was in sick bay in a coma.

“Upon reflection, while much of your behavior was illogical and mystifying at the time that it occurred, taking into consideration the depth of the emotional transference you were suffering, it becomes perfectly apparent what my alter ego was implying, and why you are in your current state of confusion.”

Jim sighed. Obviously, Spock wasn't ready to get to the point any time soon. While he appreciated that the Vulcan had come to some sort of epiphany while he'd been sitting around watching Jim sleep – and how creepy was that? - he was too tired, too hung over, and far too gross to deal with any of it right now. 

“Spock, I'm really not sure what you're getting at,” he said as he rose from the bed and staggered towards the bathroom. “But how about you let me take a shower, and then maybe we can discuss this over-”

“No.” 

That stopped Jim in his tracks. He cocked his head to the side and looked wide-eyed at his impertinent first officer. Not that Jim wanted to pull rank, but he was still the captain of this ship and the maker of his own timetable, thank you very much.

“Excuse me?”

“Avoidance of the issue will not solve the problem,” Spock said calmly. 

“Yeah, well, neither will dancing around the point with five-dollar words.” 

“You wish me to use more colloquial terms?”

“Yes.” 

Spock fell silent as he cocked his head to the side and contemplated his next words. Jim was half tempted to use the pause to escape into the shower. He managed to resist and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Well?” 

“To use a familiar analogy: You were cheating, but now your cheat sheet has been stripped from you, and you're at a loss for information that was previously readily available.” 

Jim's brows furrowed as he forced his brain to work past the hangover and get what Spock was telling him. It would have helped if Spock had at least offered strong coffee with the glass of water, and possibly some bacon to help him think. Not that there was a chance in hell that Spock would ever offer him meat in any shape or form. 

Spock continued, unaware of Jim's wandering thoughts. 

“However unconsciously, you were leaning on the memories of friendship transferred to you by my alter ego to make decisions and act upon them, regardless of whether they were beneficial or detrimental. That is why you were so surprised when I handed in a truthful report after the Nibiru incident. Your friend Spock, the notion that had been imprinted upon your mind by my alter ego, would never have betrayed you in that fashion.” 

Jim hated to admit it made perfect sense. He never had figured out why he had felt so spectacularly blindsided by something he should have seen coming from a mile away. But that still didn't change the fact that losing Spock's memories had caused him to fail so thoroughly on the very next mission afterwards.

“Okay, so how is knowing that supposed to fix me?” 

“It isn't. What it is meant to do is clarify the situation, so that you can make an informed decision about your future course of action. There is nothing wrong with your mind, Jim. You are perfectly capable of rational thought, just as you have always been capable of reckless behavior. There is nothing holding you back from behaving in a more responsible manner, nor is there any reason to doubt your capabilities as a captain of this ship simply because you are lacking the memory of a relationship that has not yet begun to form.”

“You're saying I'm over-analyzing things?”

“To a substantial degree.” 

“Then what am I supposed to do now?” 

“To continue the previous analogy, the best way to achieve success without cheat sheets is to learn the material and avail yourself of the resources you are given.”

“Right, you mean get to know you better.” 

“Yes, and to let me finish my sentences when I try to impart my professional opinion before you recklessly jump into action.” 

“I guess.” Jim sighed. 

It was downright anti-climactic to accept there was nothing wrong with him. But when Spock laid it all out in such a clear and logical fashion, it was impossible to not see things for what they were. Jim had taken a coincidence and blown it out of proportion in a spectacular way. He had let his recklessness get the better of him, sure. But the truth was that nothing had ever actually been able to physically stop him from doing that, even with Spock in his mind. It had just been a lot easier to listen to Spock's reason when it was part of Jim, literally embedded in his head.

Now, Jim would have to learn to deal with the Spock who was actually in front of him. There was no more 'just knowing' where the lines were and which ones it was better not to cross. Jim wondered what else he had lost when Spock severed the memories of the old Spock from his mind. He wondered what kind of stuff he might have known that was now lost for good.

“It still sucks that he's gone. A whole alternate history just - Poof.” 

“Rest assured that is not the case. He will be remembered.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.”

The computer chirped and Bones' drawl rumbled through the speaker.

“Medbay to Captain Kirk.” 

They both froze, staring at each other without blinking. 

Jim's voice was steady and not the least bit affected by the anxiety of impending bad news when he answered the call. 

“Kirk here. What is it, Bones?”

“Just thought you might want to know that your favorite communications officer is back up'an'at'em. That's all.”

“We'll be right there.” 

Spock had already risen from his chair and Jim was ready to follow him out the door when he realized he was still in his underwear. 

“Shit.” 

He looked around aimlessly but only found his pants on the floor by the bed. He pulled them on in record time, still looking around. 

“Jim.” 

He spun around in time to have a shirt hit him square in the face.

“Thanks.” 

Rumpled but dressed, he followed Spock out the door and to the turbolift, vibrating under his skin the whole time. 

~~

Uhura was up and at them as much as she could be with the help of extra pillows behind her back and under the direct supervision of the chief medical officer himself. While Bones was checking her vitals, she was holding court with both Chekov and Sulu at her bedside. When she asked about the butterfly stitches on Sulu's forehead, he waved her off with a smile and a shrug, insisting the scar would make him look more ruggedly handsome. 

Jim almost didn't want to step closer, knowing that he was going to spoil the mood with his appearance - It was enough to know she was okay – but a solid presence at his back put the kibosh on that plan. Jim's hair bristled at the back of his neck, and he looked over his shoulder to see Spock hovering with the Vulcan equivalent of a scowl, namely, a blank expression with just the hint of furrowed eyebrows. 

“Okay,” he said under his breath and took a step forward. 

“Captain!” Chekov's enthusiastic shout caused an instinctive flinch. 

Jim raised a hand in greeting and ducked his head to look at Uhura with the firm expectation that she would start yelling any second now. She sucked in a spectacularly long breath and Jim cringed, bracing himself for the well deserved dressing down. 

“Captain,” she said. 

“I am so sorry.” He burst forward with his hands out, ready to eat crow and compliment the chef on it. “I'm a class-A moron, and I never should have beamed us down into that situation. You're a communications officer, not a soldier, and I fucked up. I promise I'll never do it again, and I'll prepare better next time. Heck, I'll even listen to Spock, and I won't hit on you ever again. Okay, maybe not that, but I'll do it in a much more respectful manner from now on, and I'll stop when you ask me to. And you get to punch me in the face for this one when you're back to full strength.” 

Uhura blinked, cocked her head to the side, and gave him a look that was eerily close to the expression Spock had last night when Jim was sitting in the dirt outside the bar. 

“Are you done?” She even used the same tone. 

“Yeah?” 

“While I appreciate the sentiment.” She paused. “Actually, I don't appreciate the sentiment.” She sat up straighter with a wince. “There's so much chauvinism in your remorse that I would kick your butt if I wasn't afraid I'd tear my stitches.” 

Jim cringed. 

“I'm a communications officer, yeah, but I'm also a trained member of Starfleet. I have spent hours training in hand to hand combat and, just so you know, while you went down like a sack of potatoes, I was able to take out two of them before those ql'yah Blhnuch got to me.” There was another significant pause. “Sir.” 

Spock raised a brow. Bones snorted. Sulu whistled under his breath, and Chekov looked at her as if she was Wonder Woman sprung from the pages of a comic book. 

“That said,” she continued. “I do think you would be better off listening to Commander Spock in matters of strategy. We all would.” Another pause. “Sir.” 

She leveled a significant look at Sulu's stitches and raised her chin in a defiant manner before she turned her eyes back on Jim.

“And I do accept your apology for being a class-A moron.” 

Jim ducked his head and tried to hide a smile. He'd always had a soft spot for that feisty wildcat, and this was no different than all the other times she'd ripped his head off and put it back on straight. Sometimes it took him a while to get it, but boy when he got it, he got it. 

“Got it.” He bit his lip and shuffled a few tentative steps forward. “So, we're good?” 

She let him sweat it for a minute. He couldn't blame her after all the crap he'd given her, and he still did feel guilty for getting her hurt, and Sulu too.

“Yeah,” she said, “We're good.” 

There was a collective murmur of relief as she patted the bed and waved him over. Jim made himself comfortable on the foot of her bed opposite of Chekov and Sulu. He'd had enough of sitting on uncomfortable plastic chairs for a while. Spock chose to stand next to Jim, leaving enough room for Bones to get around them to the medical equipment.

“Okay,” Uhura said as she turned to look at Chekov. “Now, you know my story, I've got to know. How did you do it?” 

Chekov grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, it wasn't just me. Commander Spock helped with the chemicals, and Lieutenant Commander Scott was doing all the technical execution. I just did the math.” 

“Where is Scotty, anyway?” Jim looked around, surprised to see that every member of their quasi-family was in the room, except the head of engineering. Uhura smiled. 

“He was just going to get me a-” 

“Someone ordered a sandwich?” The loud Scottish brogue announced the arrival of the man himself. “Extra mustard, luv.” 

The delivery didn't make it all the way to her bedside before it was intercepted by Doctor McCoy, who swung the plate out of Scotty's hands with a suspicious glare.

“That had better be mild mustard and lean meats, Lieutenant Commander.” 

“What d'ye take me for? A heathen?” 

“If the kilt fits.” 

Jim listened to the two with a shake of his head, taking the opportunity when it presented itself to remove the plate from Bones' hand and transfer it to Uhura's lap. She dug in with gusto and a happy roll of her eyes and was able to finish the better part of the sandwich before Bones and Scotty were done bickering. 

“Now look what you've done.” Bones stabbed a hand towards the nearly empty plate. 

“Eh.” Scotty shrugged. “Good, luv?” 

“Delicious,” Uhura said with a smile.

“Okay, now make room for Uncle Scotty, and I'll tell ye all about how we used the cooling clusters from the cold storage deck to build a wind machine and figured out how to divert the air stream through a transporter beam to blow through like an icy wind from hell.” 

Jim laughed and moved over, allowing Scotty to pull up a chair and sit down to tell his story. 

The End.


End file.
